Blogcat's Take, 5/22

Okay, today’s topic is, “Tim Duncan Is Stupid—Fact or Fiction?” Ha! Just kidding. By the way, who says Tim Duncan isn’t engaging? My musings last week incited a veritable cyber-riot of outrage. Looking back, my biggest regret is that I didn’t up the level of accusations. Instead of just insinuating he doesn’t care about NBA history, I should have accused him of trying to bomb a bus full of nuns. Maybe I could have alleged he was in the KKK—I could have doctored up some footage to create a 7-foot tall guy in a sheet who was taking a suspiciously long time trying to light a cross on fire, just staring at it forever with his knees pointed inward, fidgeting with the matches while the other Klansmen stood around and wished he’d hurry up and just set the thing on fire already (especially when he’ll probably miss it anyway).

One last comment I wanted to make on that “de-blog-cle” was that the vitriol seemed to equally divide itself into three camps: those outraged that I would dare slander Duncan, those outraged that I would dare praise Kobe Bryant, and those outraged that I would dare mention Adam Morrison, period. The disgust was remarkably symmetric. Oh well, the important thing is, at least everyone could agree on one thing: I’m a goddamned moron—way to come together! Once again, sorry for upsetting everyone; I blame it on that conference call. Stay away from conference calls, kids, they'll make you do terrible things. Try drugs instead.

Moving right along. I don’t know about you, but to me the draft lottery brought almost nothing but good-to-wonderful news. Yeah, I know we technically lost a slot by ending up with the 9th pick rather than the 8th, but look at it this way: this limits the amount of damage Michael Jordan can do. You know how some people say that it’s rare for former great players to become great coaches, because it’s hard for them (the ex-great players) to relate to and teach people who just don’t have the same raw talent? To me, this makes complete sense. I mean, Pablo Picasso could rise from the dead right now and give me 6 months of 12-hours-a-day instruction in cubism, and I still wouldn’t be able to paint a pair of fuzzy dice, let alone Le Guitariste. Moreover, after about ten minutes Pablo would get so frustrated by my ineptitude, he’d start to wish my face looked like one of his portraits for real. So I completely buy this theory.

But what’s harder to understand is why (at least in Jordan’s case) talent can’t seem to SPOT talent. Picking Kwame Brown and Adam Morrison, trading away Rip Hamilton, selecting Sam Vincent as coach…Jordan’s reputation as an appraiser of young talent is littered with terrible judgment calls. Why can’t Jordan recognize young guys who remind him of himself? I know there “will never be another Jordan,” but does that mean he’s got to screw up so spectacularly? Forget about another Jordan, just don’t get another Kwame Brown.

And that’s the beauty of the ninth pick: it’s a protective shelter from the fallout of another Jordan stink-o draft-pick bomb. Plus, Larry Brown will be his co-pilot (more like his designated driver), and that should mitigate his decision-making further. Here’s the other good thing about our slot: we had almost no chance at drawing picks 1 and 2, but imagine if we’d gotten “lucky” and been awarded with the #3? Did you see who Chad Ford’s projecting for the 3rd pick? Brook Lopez! Egad, what if we took him! I kid you not: Jay Bilas was on the radio yesterday, and he said Lopez was a great center, except that he lacks “rebounding and finishing” ability. Umm, what’s the point then? That’s like saying you’ve got a great accountant, except that he can’t add or subtract (note: when it comes to John McCain’s economics advisers, this might actually be the case). Yup, I’ll settle for the 9th pick, get an economically-sound guard or big man, and…

…continue falling out of my chair laughing at the Knicks. As a New Yorker, this brings me to the third delicious outcome of the lottery, and it’s actually a two-parter. The first was the priceless look on Mike D’Antoni’s face when his new team sank to #6 in the lottery, while his potential team scored the #1. D’Antoni did this hilarious, "appear-then-disappear" tight smile of horror that I’ve never seen pulled off by anyone except by Jeopardy! contestants when they screw up the final round. And then, almost by way of an encore, Chad Ford projected that the Knicks will use this pick on some Italian guy named Danilo Gallinari whose dad played with D’Antoni. I swear, Madison Square Garden will collectively defecate itself if this happens—I can’t wait!